


Ambiguous June

by wildcannabis



Category: South Park
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Marijuana, Multi, Prostitution, Rivalry, Sex, Summer, Swimming Pool, stoners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-09
Packaged: 2017-11-05 02:25:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildcannabis/pseuds/wildcannabis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the swampy heat of late June, Craig finds himself in places he never would've expected - and what's more, with a certain orange-clad somebody he wouldn't be caught dead with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ambiguous June

I glared coldly at him, watching the hot, heavy sunlight glinting in his irises, a lighter blue than mine, and less grey. He began to grin, slightly sheepishly, maybe a bit nervously. I felt content at this, though my scowl remained firmly in place.

“McCormick.”

“Tucker,” he shot back, with a crooked half-smile already creeping onto his features again. Damn him, the grinning buffoon.

It was late June, a wild and swampy time in and about South Park, Colorado, and Kenny McCormick and I were the only kids in town not going off to tour colleges or vacation with friends and family. Don’t get me wrong, my parents _offered_ to string me along somewhere boring with my insufferable little sister, Ruby… _ugh._ And I had just narrowly escaped that fate. Whatever. So, now I was stuck in South Park, given free range via the recently passed Home Alone Bill (the only perk – no one to fucking bother me), with only Kenny McCormick for company. Not exactly my idea of a good time. I mean, sure, he and I sometimes smoked together, but that was only if at least, say, three other people were around. Me and him alone, though? What. The. Fuck.

“Don’t get any ideas about us ‘bonding’ or some faggotry like that, you got it?” My face was ice, my words were scorching blizzards, self-contained. Kenny looked untouched.

“Who said anything about faggotry of any sort, eh, Tucker? I’d say _you’re_ the one having all the ideas, here.”

“Just a fair warning, McCormick,” I said, smooth as snakeskin, as pure water. I walked away, back to my car. We’d chanced upon one another at Stark’s, neither of us having much better to do. The sun was finally dying (that stupid fucking ball of energy, plaguing this town as it was), and the reflections in the pond were brilliant flames of a stranger’s immolation, casting their glow all about. Kenny was left standing there, watching it, stemming the burn of a cigarette beneath his gruff, scrappy-toed boot.

As I drove off, hands steady on the wheel of my piece of shit pickup truck, I considered flooring it out of South Park, to one of the nearby hubs; hell, even North Park would’ve suited me better than my hometown at that moment. I don’t fuckin’ know. I had a strange and manic urge to go do something, though the boringness running heavy in my veins would not permit. I turned up the volume on my stereo, and classical jazz trickled out in a stream of funky though musical dissonance. I vaguely wondered what McCormick would spend his summer doing, then decided I didn’t care. At all. Not at all.

-

He stayed out of my hair just long enough for me to think maybe he’d taken my words less lightly than he’d appeared to. Of course, then that cheeky little fucker ruined it.

I was sitting against the short, concrete slab of wall that encircled the old South Park Elementary schoolyard, bored, quasi-discretely smoking a fresh-rolled joint, and tired of hotboxing my car, my room, and my garage. Indolent under the gauziness of the summer air, I happily reveled in the fact that no one was there to bitch me out about not smoking cigarettes. Especially those obnoxious, punk-ass goth kids. Ew. Those things were disgusting (the cigarettes, I mean …well, arguably the goths, too), and they didn’t fucking _do_ anything, unlike marijuana cigarettes. At least there was some gain involved there. I swear to god, people just didn’t have brains or something. It’s gotta be _worth_ it, lucrative in some way, for you to inhale shit into your body. The high. It kept me placid and lukewarm. Boring. Steady and easy and cynical but not to the point of assholery. Maybe a little douche-y, but oh well.

I was still sober when McCormick walked by, his obnoxious orange pants slung low around his waist, sagging as he went. He was trying to keep some kind of swagged-out pace going, but it wasn’t cutting it. Oh, the insolence. I scowled in his direction. There was a shaggy hole at the bottom of his grungy white wife beater.

“Hey, Tucker.” He looked like a moron, what with a huge Cheshire Cat grin slapped on his face, slightly sideways. I gave him a blank nod, my lids drooping, dripping with monotony. “Nice,” he commented, whiffing the air around me. Then he added, “But naughty. Whatcha doin’, lighting that stuff up out here in broad daylight, eh? That’s something only _I_ would ever do, and I only ever did it once, dude!”

Inside, I half-grimaced at his comparison linking the two of us. Outwardly, nothing. “Just keep walking, Kenny. But pull up your pants first, I’m not so interested in viewing your peachy cheeks, thanks.”

The pink tinge in his cheeks wouldn’t have been noticeable if I hadn’t been me. I notice everything, then discard whatever isn’t of value. This was just barely qualifying as memorable, at least for the time being. “Oh, I know you’re interested, Tucker, you don’t have to lie.”

I rolled my eyes and then, when he’d made a move neither to keep walking nor pull up his britches, I stared at him intently. “You can get going now.” Perfect monotone.

“C’mon, man, put off the act already, no one’s even fuckin’ around to see it, y’know.” A devilish smile was biting down at me, his miraculously white teeth glittering (seriously, how he was blessed with those teeth when his family can hardly afford a tube of toothpaste between the five of them, I’ll never know). I continued to stare at him, and him at me, until finally, he elaborated. “Let’s get outta here and smoke somewhere more fun… I know _many,_ many places, dude. Girls included; fun times.” Still, I was silent, a rock, granite and insuppressible. He cleared his throat, his light eyes narrowing in the slightest. “You can’t say that doesn’t sound like a good time, dude…” He looked intently at me, as if attempting to read something, a book written with backwards letters in Latin and invisible ink.

“I’ve got my own places, McCormick.” I blew out a hot breath of organic-tinged smoke at him. He gave me a pointed look, eyebrows raised mischievously high on his forehead, then smirked his stupid smirk.

“I get your drift,” he murmured conspiratorially. I stemmed my joint on the pavement next to me, watching it crumple, then got up and began walking away. Fuck Kenny. “Okay, okay, _kidding,_ dude. Christ.” I felt a heavy arm drop itself leisurely around my shoulder, and stiffened immediately, attempting to dislodge the intruder. Kenny steered me back around, walking me toward town.

“What the fuck.” It was monotonous, but injected with just the right amount of growly annoyance to let the bastard know I meant it. Seriously, what the hell was he doing, dragging me around town like I was his bitch or something? Honestly. I would’ve liked to fight him off, shove him, kick his ass… but the high was beginning to set in, and besides, I was Craig Tucker; I didn’t _do_ shit like that, I didn’t _show_ any emotions.

We were at the outskirts of the town now, when McCormick pulled out a cheap throwaway cell phone. I eyed him curiously. “Okay, I’ve indulged you enough, I’m leaving.”

“Whoa whoa whoa, we haven’t even gotten to the good part yet,” he said as he pressed a button and held the thing up to his ear. “Yo, Dec, take me and my friend to Denver? … Thanks … Cool … Bye.”

“…Denver.”

“Mhm,” he responded. “Declan’s a… _client._ We have a mutually beneficial deal set up. He drives me wherever I want – he’s a cab driver – and I get him _stuff.”_ I nodded. What a poor piece of shit.

 _“Or,_ you could _sell_ to him, and buy your _own_ wheels.”

“And pay for gas? Nah thanks, brah.” As we waited, I rolled another joint and wondered why in the hell I was entertaining Kenny McCormick of all people, why I wasn’t back home, where I could be smoking alone, _not_ being irritated by an annoying blonde asshole, _not_ being dragged god-knows-where in Denver by some sketch-ass dude named _Declan._

By the time the taxi got there, dings all over the passenger doors and all, I still hadn’t walked away. What the fuck.

-

Reluctantly tucked into the backseat like some fucking four-year-old, I was less than happy as we sped down the highway, headed for the city. The whole time, Kenny spoke to this Declan guy in some stupid stoner lingo, and I pulled my chullo further down my ears. Pricks.

We rolled up on some dumpy, sketch-ass street with a bar and a couple clubs, plus an elementary school. Well _those_ kids aren’t gonna end up totally fucked up or anything later in life. The image actually made me think of my own shitty elementary school experiences, almost exclusively courtesy of Kenny and his delusional best friends. “Why am I here.”

McCormick looked over but ignored me, telling Declan to return for us when he called. The sun was less glaring in this shady neck of Denver; that was the one improvement in my sour situation of being trapped in the city with no means back except through Kenny McCormick.

As we’d driven, my high had swelled up with the last joint, and now I was fairly up there, Kenny swimming at me from so, so far away, it seemed. I was so used it that I doubted he could tell what state I was in. I said nothing and he said nothing, and he led me into the shabbier of the two clubs on either side of us.

As we entered the shitty little grunge-era place, I rather violently grabbed the back of McCormick’s wife beater, causing him to turn towards me, his face an annoying shade of quizzical mixed with perverted. “It’s not even three fucking PM, dude, what the hell are we doing in some Cobain-esque piece of shit?”

“Picking up some lady friends, dude. This is their day off, but they’re always hanging out here anyway… Easy to track down.” His eyes stretched deeper into mine, egging me on, willing me to get what he was implying, bragging about. “What they do with me isn’t client-oriented… I’m a friend… no need for formalities.” Eyes glittering as he told me this, I let myself look unsurprised, hoping to dissuade him from thinking he’d impressed me in the slightest. Stupid fuck. We walked along the side, deeper into the back of the club, where curtains quartered off the VIP lounges. Kenny turned to me again. “We’ll get Lucy and Crystal to treat us tonight, man.”

“We’re not staying here that long, you asshole.” The lights seeping from the cracks between the curtains were distracting me slightly, and walking to the room where Kenny’s fuckin’ hookers were seemed to take a while, as if the club stretched backwards forever and ever, as if we’d gotten out of the taxi hours ago. I suddenly became vastly more aware of my olfactory sense, of the fact that Kenny smelled like death and cheap cologne from where he was standing right in front of me in the doorway, slyly beckoning to the aforementioned sluts. Lucifer and Crystal Meth, or whatever their names were. I was _so_ glad I was on my way to a high.

-

Apparently, one of the whores had a car, because the next thing I knew, I was being shuffled into the back seat with Whatsherface-Crack-Cocaine, with Heroin Chick and McCormick taking the front. Kenny turned around to face me, always with that goddamn grin on his face, and said, “Comfy back there?” His gaze shifted to the slut beside me. “Lucy?” And then the wheels were screeching against the pavement, and we were doing fifty in a thirty-five. Or, at least, that’s how it seemed to me, at the time.

Our next stop was a liquor store, where the top slut and Kenny got out and returned with more booze than was prudent for _anyone_ to be drinking, much less some high school kids and hoes who had to drive themselves around a big city. It was stupid. If fuckin’ McCormick was going to be a beer brat then fine, but he at least should’ve been logical with it. That was the main reason I couldn’t stand the guy; nothing he did made sense. Sure, it was fine and cheery if _he_ died, but the bonehead never thought about the people around him. The stunts he’d pulled, he’d almost gotten multiple people I knew killed, not that I particularly cared about those people, since they happened to be his jackass friends Stan, Kyle, and Fatass, but still. It took someone special – specially incompetent and a total jackass – to nearly kill three other dudes. So how I wound up in a car with him and these bitches with two cases of bud and a bottle of tequila, I knew naught.

We went barreling down the road again, then, alcohol resting in McCormick’s lap as he howled out to the music pumping through the car, surprisingly in-key. Under the summer sky, still a fairly light blue even in the evening, the car zoomed around blocks and curves and then a stretch of highway or two. It seemed like all I’d ever known had been in Denver, like South Park was from the time of the ancient Mayans. Next to me, the girl had her hand running up and down my thigh. I had this really ridiculous grin curling over the features of my face, which annoyed me because I was Craig Tucker and I didn’t… _smile._ Yet, there I was, looking like a jackass as sparkle tits over there touched me.

Kenny turned around again and caught me mid-shit-eating-grin, eyes droopy and chullo slightly askew. I immediately threw him daggers with my eyes, but it was too late; he’d seen. Damnit. “Having fun there, Tucker? Sure seems like it. _See,_ good ol’ Kenny knows how to have a good time.” I kneed the back of his seat.

-

During the ride, which included a few more stops, a third hooker who hopped in the back and insisted upon taking my seat (sandwiching me in between the two of them, the damn HIV-cesspools), and another joint on my part, McCormick kept on glancing back at me, though I was barely aware of my immediate environment. I noticed him, though, his catlike slits of blue eyeing me over, wicked little smiles that pissed me off because they were just so… so… _him,_ as dumb as that sounded. Anything to do with him repulsed me, at least slightly.

We ended up at a community swimming pool, closed for the night with a tall, black gate surrounding it. We hopped it, the whores having some trouble opening their legs, for once. I almost fell, perched on the top and high as fuck. “C’mon, man,” McCormick brattily shouted at me from the edge of the water, already with an open beer in hand. I swung my weight over, barely landing on my feet. The whole scene felt like a twisted wonderland, a nightmare version. I didn’t know why I was there, why I was going along with _any_ of this. As Kenny cannonballed into the water, the three sluts lured me over to the Jacuzzi. Hands were flying all over me from every direction until most of my clothes remained around me in little crumpled heaps. My chullo still remained atop my head as they pulled me down into the water, like disgusting, sickly Sirens. McCormick showed up out of nowhere, in between one blink of my tired, fuzzy, drugged-out eyes.

My eyes hid behind my ever-droopy lids, noticing suddenly that one of the heroin chicks was getting it on with McCormick. “Why… the fuck am I… watching this?” I mumbled out, resting my arms up on the cool cement, tilting my neck back, chullo sliding down my face. At this, Kenny seemed to remember I was there. Fuck. With a swift inclination of his stupid blonde head, he’d unleashed one of the other bitches on me, her smooth, slimy hands slipping down the length of my bare chest and down to the top of my boxer shorts. I sat with my arms crossed, chullo sliding further down my face until my eyes were obscured and the scowl of my jaw was all that was visible of my discontentment.

Like a bitch, I just sat there and took it, higher than heaven. I’d been steeping in the foaming Jacuzzi water for some time, whore-hands touching me everywhere, when I finally took note of the… _extra_ hands. Snapping to a bit, I yanked up my hat above my eyes to find myself staring into McCormick’s face. “Hey, sleepy,” he mumbled, biting the bottom corner of his lip in concentration.

“What the fuck?!”

He cackled, the crackwhores surrounding us like witches, touching me, touching Kenny who was touching me. With his other hand, the degenerate procured another beer bottle and brought it to my lips, ruggedly shoving the bottle opening into my mouth and choking me with foamy fermentation. I sputtered and struggled against him, experiencing pain where his gruff worker’s hand was fixed on me. He let go, opting to sit right next to me, arm falling around my own. The girls encroached upon us, then, like lions.

“Dude, get _off_ me.” The flickering image of his nymph-like face swam beside me. Suddenly the sound of the bubbling jets were so far away from me. I took up the beer bottle and sipped. Why the fuck not? I was already in hell.

-

We were in a slinky, shadowy club, fully clothed again, sans underwear, a whole hoard of whores surrounding us. Between the community pool and here, I’d smoked another two. I had no intentions of remembering this, come morning. The girls were squeal-y and curvy and all drunk or high. McCormick was standing up on the pool table, girls going up and down the length of his body, his face looking like he thought was a fuckin’ god. King of the club. I’d be disgusted but I so damn out of it. There was a stupid grin on my face and I couldn’t feel my abdomen. “Craaaaaig, mah main bro, get yer ass up heeeere!” Kenny’s ever-excited voice called. I felt hands and elbows nudging me forward until Kenny’s found mine and I was suddenly a king with him. It was stupid and I moved to get another blunt from my case, but his arm was all heavy on my shoulder, weighing down like a dumbbell and he made some more indistinguishable announcements to the world at large, me swinging at his side like the partner-in-crime I never asked to be.

There was something slobbery and sour-smelling against my cheek, and I only realized once it stopped that Kenny fucking McCormick had just _kissed_ me, my face, my cheek. “Duuude…” I slurred a bit, annoyed and too fucked up to do anything about it. It felt like a giant squid had just had sex with my cheekbone. I elbowed McCormick’s ribs, which was when I realized there was rib there, meaning his shirt was now suspiciously gone. Legs like chocolate pudding, I was suddenly sitting on the pool table, back hunched, Kenny slowly sliding down beside me until we were a heap of beer and weed and skin and drooping faces occasionally cracked up in the most retarded grins. Fingers were running through my hair (where the hell was my chullo?), girls’ fingers, slick and thin and soft and probably infested with herpes.

-

McCormick and I sat on the cold, cement curb outside the whores’ second home, the little rat-a-tat club. We were waiting for Dec, the driver, to come fetch us. My high was wearing off and I was glaring off into the darkness of the litter-ridden street. I decided it was unacceptable not to be high, because of the monumental shittiness of the situation. Beside me, Kenny couldn’t keep a smirk off his face as he finished off a couple more beers. Apparently he didn’t want to keep sober, either. Probably so he had an excuse to fucking _rape_ me. Asshole. I shifted away from him, lighting my weed up.

The yellow of the taxi in the dark was a welcome sight. I just hoped the fucking cabby wasn’t too stoned to drive us back to South Park. “Never. Again.” I told McCormick as we ducked into the backseat together, laying back against the ruined upholstery immediately.

“You wish,” he muttered, eyes closed and head falling back into his hood, feet up on the front passenger headrest.


End file.
